


No Light

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Gen, Short, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-01
Updated: 2003-09-01
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: Mulder takes care of Scully as she recovers. Or is it the other way around?





	No Light

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

No Light

## No Light

### by Gina Rain

Title: No Light  
Author: Gina Rain Category: S, A, UST (I guess)  
Rating: PG-13  
Spoilers: Tithonus  
Summary: Mulder takes care of Scully as she recovers. Or is it the other way around?  
Disclaimer: CC and Company created the X-files. Archive: Sure 

**XXXXXXXXXX**

When she opened her eyes that morning, she was struck by the realization of the perfectly obvious. Her bedroom was dark.  
She was in a dark room.  
No light.  
Ironic.  
She almost spent the last moments of her life in an 'official' darkroom but she had to face facts. If she had died any time during the past couple of months, it would have been in the dark. 

At home, she woke and moved about in pre-dawn darkness with drapes drawn. She returned to post-dusk darkness with her dimmer switch on low.  
At work, the formerly well-lit bullpen had suddenly been converted to a room illuminated only by painfully bright desk lamps that made the darkness darker and burned her skin from the glow of overheated bulbs. And then there was her assignment in New York. 'They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway. They say that there is magic in the air.' _They_ are obviously on crack.  
Life wasn't a song and all she encountered in the 'city that never sleeps' were charcoal streets bathed in dirt. 

Even her hospital room had been dark. Perhaps it was just a preventative measure to keep her from clearly seeing the super-scar that Peyton Ritter's super-bullet helped create. 

But the darkest thing in her life--the darkest person-- was her partner. And that hadn't changed one bit since they returned home. 

She was still on sick leave for another week. Every night, after work, he faithfully came by and brought her take out-out dinner. He held her hand for a moment, asked how she was, avoided eye contact and went home. 

His visits left her apartment a little darker than it was before his arrival. 

Today, it would be different.  
She had enough of the darkness. 

She carefully made the necessary changes. Drapes were opened--windows were gingerly cleaned from the inside. The dimmer switch was turned up to a healthier level of lighting. She was tired but happy with the results. Her apartment was always meant to be a light, cheery haven in the midst of their dark, depressing cases. It was never meant to be an extension of her work world. 

She lay back against the couch cushions with the radio softly playing in the background. The lights were on and she was running the words of an old song through her mind when she heard a key in her lock. 

Right on time. Mulder's Food Delivery. She quickly made a bet with herself that he'd bring Chinese this evening. 

He opened the door and she could tell from the aroma that she won her own bet. But the bag was small. Dinner for one. Again. 

It was time for him to walk over, grasp her hand, inquire about her health and get the hell out of Dodge. 

Instead, he stood in the middle of the room and squinted at the brightness. 

"What did you do?" he asked without preamble. 

"Opened a few curtains. Turned up the light," she said, gingerly setting both feet on the floor and sitting up. 

"Did you overdo it? Anything hurt?" 

"No." 

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes." 

He squinted directly at her. Another odd sight to his eyes. A Scully that was not sitting in the shadows waiting for his brief visitation. 

She knew he was expecting an "I'm fine" to let him off the hook, but she wasn't going to give it to him. She wasn't fine. And neither was he. They were coping, at best. It was time to dispel the darkness, shed some light on the situation, brighten up--any or all of the above. The path they were currently on was too damned depressing. 

He went into her kitchen and got a fork and heavier paper plate. He knew she hated the flimsy ones the restaurant provided. He set them before her and reached for her hand. Better late than never. 

"How are you feeling?" he asked, still waiting for her pat answer. 

She gripped his fingers tightly and put on a funereal expression. "I'm ... as well as can be expected," she said, with a slight twinkle in her eye. 

He attempted to drop her hand as if it was the bulb from his bullpen desk lamp. She wouldn't let him. 

"Mulder," she cajoled. "Please--it's been a couple of weeks already. Just relax and sit and eat with me." 

"I can't." 

"Why?" 

"Because--I brought some work home with me." 

"Work? You are that enthusiastic about background checks that you are doing them at home? Or have you taken a second job as a telemarketer?" 

"I ..." 

"You--are a liar." 

He pulled at his hand and she finally let it go. He stood there staring at his shoes. He hadn't been given the all clear but she knew he wanted to leave. Fine. 

"Thanks for the dinner, Mulder, but I'll be back to work soon. In the meantime, I'm perfectly capable of both calling for food and letting the delivery man in." 

"That sounds like a kiss-off to me, Scully," he said, with a half-smirk. 

"Then you have very acute hearing," she said. 

The smirk disappeared. 

"You don't want me to come by?" She expected him to be relieved. He didn't seem to be. 

"I don't want you to come by, look sad and leave. In case you didn't notice, I am alive, Mulder. And plan on staying that way. You are so concerned with what almost happened that you aren't paying attention to what actually took place." 

"I need to see you," he stated simply. 

"You see me," she said, carefully reaching for the carton of rice. She put a little on her plate and reached for the other carton. 

"I need to see you every day," he said. 

"Take a picture." 

She didn't have to look up to know he winced. It wasn't the most sensitive thing to say under the circumstances but she was bored and tired and wanted Mulder back. She never even realized how much she missed him until she took full note of his morose behavior. 

Mulder was light and fire and passion. This man before her was afraid to breathe. 

He sat on the edge of her coffee table. His coat was still on--no doubt in preparation for a quick escape. 

"You don't understand," he said. 

" _I_ don't understand? I've never seen you near death? I've never sat by your side at the hospital? Or visited you in your apartment while you were recovering?" 

"You are much better at it than I am." 

"You think so?" 

"I know so. I watched you after Kersh gave you that assignment. So stoic. They were splitting us up. You know it as well as I do. If things had gone according to plan, you would have been reassigned. And, this time, you would have accepted. And I wouldn't have said a word to dissuade you. I would have tried to stay in your life--butt into your cases, but you would eventually conform to Bureau standards and put a stop to it. At least, you'd be alive. That was the tradeoff. But it didn't work out." 

"Due to an accident." 

"Yeah, well, I couldn't even keep you safe by letting you go," he pulled his open coat around him. "I just can't get over the feeling I've had since that phone call. A feeling of imminent loss with no life beyond. I don't seem to exist." 

"Of course you do." 

"Only because you're still here. If anything had happened to you--I wouldn't exist. Not only on some cosmic level but ..." 

"Mulder! I don't want to hear you talking that way. You have to promise me ... " 

"Okay. I promise," he said flatly. 

"You're lying again." 

"I'm telling you what you asked to hear." 

She nodded, taking her first bite of orange chicken and swallowing it along with the truth of Mulder's statement. She had no doubt he would be devastated if she left this world before he did but it was time to bring things back to the here and now. 

"So," she said, loading her fork again, "you're punishing me for the way you think you'd feel over my possible death?" 

"The way I _would_ feel, Scully. And no--I don't think I'm punishing you. I think I'm taking a moment to put my life in perspective." 

She spiked another piece of chicken and held it out to him. 

"Take a moment to eat." 

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth and took the chicken from her fork. He smiled an unconvincing smile. "It's good," he said, blandly. 

"I don't suppose I could persuade you to take off your coat and stay awhile. Eat something, volunteer to help me change my bandage, watch that weird space puppet show you like." 

"Mystery Science Theater. And they're robots," he automatically corrected. 

"Yeah, that one." 

He took off his coat and sat next to her, still uncomfortable. She offered him another piece of chicken. 

"I'm not the one who's sick, Scully. I should be feeding you." 

"I'm not sick, either. I'm recovering from an accident. There's a big difference." 

He quietly took her offering and chewed slowly. Then he swallowed and turned to face her fully. "Bandages? Can't you do better than that? You're a doctor. Why would you need me to change your bandages?" 

"It's a very clumsy job. I have to use a mirror to see if there's any sign of infection and it involves a lot of stretching in places I shouldn't be stretching. Besides, I'm getting a rash from the tape. It would be nice if you could put it somewhere that hasn't been rubbed raw." 

He got on the floor and kneeled by her side. 

"Don't you want to finish eating first?" she asked. 

"I'll eat after I change your bandage." 

"Oh, yeah. That will work wonders for your appetite," she put down her food and lifted her shirt to expose her stomach. Mulder slowly and gently peeled off the bandage. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asked. 

"No. I'm used to the tape pulling by now," she looked down at the intent expression on his face as he stared at her wound. That was also probably not a sensitive--or smart--move: to visibly remind him of how close she had come to dying. He ran his fingers so lightly over the puckered skin that it felt like a cool breeze was touching her, not a human being. 

"It's hideous, I know," she said, suddenly selfconscious. 

"It's beautiful." 

"What?" Obviously, Mulder had joined the New Yorkers who wrote that song and dipped into some bizarre drug that severely altered his perception. 

"It's healing. And that's pretty damned beautiful to me," he stated simply and went into the bathroom. 

No poetic words about her eyes resembling the ocean, or her hair the fiery sunset of a heaven-kissed isle. Hell, not even a 'Hey, toots--you're looking good today.' No. Mulder chose to get sentimental over an ugly scar and nothing could touch her more. 

He came out of the bathroom with her medical supplies and cleansed and dressed her wound. He then took the hem of her shirt to pull it down and stopped. He smiled a smile she didn't think she was meant to see. It was soft and sly at the same time. But a smile from Mulder was now so rare that she didn't call him on it. 

He couldn't keep a secret--or his true nature--hidden for long. He ran his finger up her stomach and softly traced the underside of her bare breast. She hadn't even remembered that she left her bra off after her shower until he touched her skin. She looked down and saw what Mulder had seen a few moments before he went on his tactile fact finding tour: the completely natural contours of her tee-shirt covered breasts. She felt her face get hot. 

"Mulder ... " he stopped smiling and drew his hand away immediately. 

"I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me," the smile returned briefly. "I just ... you're incredibly soft, Scully." 

She smiled. She should kick his ass from here to Tuscaloosa, but this was the real Mulder. Stepping all over boundaries when given half the opportunity. Gentle, sad and funny. She leaned forward and kissed his eyebrow. 

"What was that for?" 

"For trying to reach second base before you even step up to the plate. For always grasping beyond. That's the man I know and have missed." 

She could see a good deal of his tension lift as he smiled. 

"I manhandle you and get a sloppy little eyebrow kiss in return? Lift up that shirt again. Perhaps _you'll_ aim differently if I aim differently." 

He reached out to playfully grab her shirt and she playfully slapped at his hands in return. A little twinge reminded her she better put a quick end to the frivolity--no matter how good it felt. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. 

"For the record, Mulder, if anything happened to you--I might exist on a physical level, and I might even seem to function, but a good part of me would be gone forever. The softness. I keep it well hidden. It's not meant for everyone." 

"For me?" he asked, hopefully. 

She nodded and kissed his other eyebrow with a loud, smacking sound. His smile was so bright that she put both hands on either side of his face and tilted his head up just a bit. She carefully maneuvered herself to the edge of the couch and pressed her lips to his. One soft sweet kiss that, just as it was ending, led to a second one--with slightly more pressure, which led to a third before she forced herself to pull away. 

His look was a mixture of amazement, shock and wonder. 

"We already do grieving so well, Mulder. It's time we practice celebration." 

He nodded, as she leaned back on the couch, making herself comfortable. 

"Mulder--I think you can feed me now. And turn on the television. That puppet show is on soon." 

Mulder got up, turned off the radio, turned on the television and sat next to her. He reached for the container of food, thought better of it and reached for her hand instead. 

"So, Scully, how are you doing today?" 

"I'm fine, Mulder. Getting better every minute." 

"I'm glad to hear it. And they're robots." 

He picked up the orange chicken and speared her a slice. 

The End 

Author's Notes:  
The Challenge:  
Comfort Fic  
Finding something you didn't know was lost (Mulder's personality--check)  
Hope--uh, uh ... okay--here it is: I HOPE you liked this story (whew! check)  
Volunteers, or volunteering (Scully asks Mulder to volunteer to change her bandages--check) Mystery Science Theater (check--twice)  
suicide (implied, but check) 

"No Light" was the name of a demo Stevie Nicks made in the 70s, which later turned into Planets of the Universe, if you're a fan at all. The demo popped into my head when I was watching Tithonus--mainly because the bullpen was so damned dark!   
  


#### If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Gina Rain


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